So We’ll See If Husbands Can Be Replaced by Ladders and Sheer Will.
1. Do not worry. I haven’t decided to quit my day job to write erotic literature, nor will I start charging blog readers by the minute. (Unless, of course, you’re in. In which case, I’m in. Just… you know… let me know.)
2. My friend Stefanie had her baby. Five pounds, 12 ounces, and I hear she is beautiful and will be able to go home soon, where I will visit and tell her harrowing tales about how her mother, while 7 1/2 months pregnant, moved across the country and survived apartment fires and dealt with dying vehicles and leaked amniotic fluid on my office chair all in an effort to find her a safe place to live. Stefanie’s husband, by the way, made it home safe from Afghanistan in time to greet his daughter.
3. Deployments are no fun. Sometimes, all this alone time makes me feel like maybe I’m part of some crazy experiment — the solitary mouse, stuck in a maze with a few toys and snacks thrown into various rooms, and for some reason people are watching me to see what I’ll do next.
Is that weird?
4. I get by with a little help from my friends. And Long Island iced teas.
5. Today I’m attempting to hang large, heavy fixtures made of galvanized steel by myself because apparently I’m friends with my neighbors when it comes to tool exchange, but notsomuch when my husband’s in Afghanistan and I need to borrow some brawn for a few minutes.
That sounds wrong.
Maybe that’s why the ladies don’t want to lend me their husbands.
In any case, I’m stuck attempting this myself, because frankly I’m tired of having my entire wardrobe heaped on a chair in the corner of my bedroom. It’s not conducive to timely arrivals at work when I have to spend 10 minutes burrowing for clothes and another 10 — okay 2 — spraying on that anti-wrinkle spray because — let’s just be honest — iron, I do not.
I know, I know. First world problems.
But I’m telling you this because if you don’t hear from me in a few days, please send help because it means I’m probably trapped beneath a weighty hodgepodge of pine boards, pipe fittings, and the pillows/cardboard box/metal ladder contraption I’ve stacked to act as my willing closet organizer hanging partner.
If this works out, I might just have to run away with him.
If it doesn’t work out, I might have to re-think this whole I-can-handle-anything-while-my-husband’s-deployed attitude.